


A Study in Red

by orphan_account



Series: The Blog of John Watson [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle, Teenlock - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Episode: s01e01 A Study in Pink, Except Red, Freeform, Gen, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:58:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson is forced by his parents to move from his precious small-town life in Northumberland, and to a little city called Bakersfield. The only odd thing in Bakersfield is the school; which also acts as a boarding school for some parents who live in neighboring Manchester and London. Everything turns normal. Everything but Sherlock Holmes.</p><p>[AU. Teenlock.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Prologue; John Watson

 

The specific detail of Saint Bartholomew's counselor's office from the tiniest prick was not very important until you sat in the soft chairs made to comfort you; in which they really don't and have you feel awkward and to want to leave. For John Watson to be able to memorize the room was astounding to himself, yet it was nothing special- everyone who had been in this room could memorize everything once they sat in that chair. But John didn't know that.

John Watson was short, shorter then some girls even, and he had blonde hair that was cut short in an almost kept way. He did not slouch and he sat up straight looking his superior in the eyes. His stolid gaze was not unnerving, but it seemed that he hung onto every word you muttered; sometimes he wasn't and just doing this was pure habit.

John sat in the awkward and soft chair, and in front of him was James Sholto, his counselor that seemed to be in a neutral state at all times, as he had always been whenever John saw him. It must have had something to do with the fact that James Sholto was once in the army.

"So John," Sholto started looking at a notepad he had situated on his desk, "how're you feeling today?" Sholto looked up at John for a brief second to see that John had broken eye-contact with him and had looked down at the notepad; only for a second, but Sholto had caught it. 

"Fine, absolutely fine," John told Sholto, who had written that down in the notebook. Nothing relaxed John right now, he was on his alert. His cane next to him, he had his hand itching to touch it.

Sholto did not take notice, of course, he was more focused on John. "Its been a month, John, but does your leg feel better at all?" He investigated further into the crevices of John Watson's mind some more, invading his brain. 

"Oh, well, you know..." John stopped, his face turning absently towards the computer screen with a picture of Sholto being huddled around many other men in the same sort of outfit as him. He situated himself to stare at the background picture, ignoring Sholto's looks of concern.

"It must still hurt every now and then, am I correct?" the counselor questioned. He go a nod in response before continuing to question further to the topic of the day he wanted to hear, "Have you been keeping up with your blog page I set-up for you last week?"

John stiffened then shook his head. "I have nothing to write about," he honestly recalled his boring, normal life, "I did, once, think about writing about our sessions, but then it wouldn't be private. Harry suggested I write about the things I did with her when she was home, but... They just weren't adventurous enough to talk about. They were actually quite boring."

John's voice was throaty and tight when he spoke. He didn't even expect himself to give away so much information. It probably had something to do with the fact that Mr. Sholto was friends with his Uncle William in primary school, so John felt comfortable saying that. He liked Mr. Sholto, he honestly did, but John did not like anyone while he sat in that chair.

"Something is better then nothing, John." Sholto sat up more in his chair. It seemed as if John Waston was actually opening up to him, venting about his problems instead of wasting both of their times by sitting there and doing nothing. It was a brilliant way to end John's last time in Saint Bartholomew, in a town called Northumberland, and went to a room with a soft chair that was meant for comfort and did everything but.

 

 

As John was in his room, boxes still packed up and cane next to a pair of crutches he used months ago, and all the while he could hear his mother's shuffling and his father's large strides coming from the floor above. He had gotten the satisfaction of having the entire basement to himself and could hear everything. He thought of himself as a spy, or rather the ears of the house. 

He and his family had arrived in a home in a place called Bakersfield - not to be confused with Baskerville; the place not to far from Bakersfield. It was really large, not too far from London, either. It was the ideal living place for families like his. 

The town itself was welcoming, but seemed it had it's flaws, but they were all normal to have in this type of community. In fact, it was so normal, John had though he had dreamed up either a cold nightmare or a beautiful dream; either would have been better than to find it to be a reality. Bakersfield is where he would now eat, drink, sleep, and go to school at. 

John opened a box as he heard his mother talk about the school to his father again. He bothered not to listen, as he had heard it all before and read it from the brochure that was printed and put onto photo copy paper, and took his blankets out and set up his mattress. 

It had been the most joyous of rides, really. John had never wanted to just do something new like, oh, jump out of the car window while his parents listened to an America woman speak about sex and chastity, perhaps? Don't forget to add lots of religious concepts as well, though that was just a bonus feature.

So John got to sleep, a well-deserved sleep, even if he were in Bakersfield.

 

Author here jut to say, this is a set of chapters to describe the ridiculous adventures of two teenagers. Their escapades being nothing more then for my enjoyment. I will update a new adventure (I'm not saying chapter; I'm saying adventure) up in a week or just a few days after, perhaps. It depends on how fast, or slow, I get this story done. For now, enjoy this prologue. This is on QuoteV, where it looks attractive, to an extent, you can find it on my profile: quotev.com/renegadewinchester   
VH


	2. Debating Holmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson is forced by his parents to move from his precious small-town life in Northumberland, and to a little city called Bakersfield. The only odd thing in Bakersfield is the school; which also acts as a boarding school for some parents who live in neighboring Manchester and London. Everything turns normal. Everything but Sherlock Holmes.
> 
> [AU. Teenlock.]

        "I wonder if that professor will be nice, like Jam- Mr. Sholto, was?" John's mother mused, speaking her thoughts and almost saying Mr. Sholto's real name. John's mother had always been more outspoken about the questions that ran through her head than John's father, who was as opaque as a rock; if you cracked a rock open all you would find would be more rock, keeping it's secrets hidden and safe. She was also friendlier than him.  
  
        John didn't say anything in response, but continued to fiddle with his phone. He couldn't believe there was a Co-Ed private boarding school in Bakersfield.   
  
        Had he looked further into it, it made sense. Loads of rich parents could send their children there without them being too far from home. But, as stated, John did not think of that. He thought it was incredibly stupid.  
  
        John's mother had strawberry blonde hair that John didn't have, and possessed larger eyes that had a splendid blue color while flecks of hazel almost the color of king's crown danced around her pupils. She was short, but still taller than John by a few inches, though that was when she wore tennies.  
  
        As the school loomed over the Watson's ordinary vehicle, John couldn't help but to stare. It looked "The school looks like the bloody Queen lived there, for God's sake!" John's mother exclaimed in admiration and awe.   
  
        "Oh God," John smiled, looking at the blonde woman. John's mother was like a teenage girl sometimes, but she knew when to be a parent. Right now, she was acting like a teenage girl.  
   
        The castle seemed far from the normality that was Bakersfield. John and his mother seemed to like it more than anything they had seen so far in Bakersfield in those two months they had been there.   
  
        Driving up, John's mother henned about how John needed to text her. John pretended to listen to the rest of what she said, but tuned her out. He knew she was just repeating what she said, but only in greater detail; she tended to do that quite a bit.  
  
        "Alright, have fun, make friends, and if anyone has the nerve to be rude to you, well..." She smiled brightly in a menacing nature, "I didn't take four years of karate for nothing, love."  
  
        John rolled his eyes, yet somehow knew she wasn't lying, feeling the hair on his legs raise a little. He steeped out of the car and before closing the door, he smiled at his mother. "You never said anything about drugs," he joked before shutting the door and waving.  
  
        His mother glared at him for a split second before waving back and smiling slightly and grabbing her phone. She was attached to that little device; never went anywhere without it.  
  
        John had to follow rather large white boards that read, 'MRS. HUDSON'S NOVICE DEBATE CAMP. ROOM 221 FLOOR B; IN THE THEATER IN THE MUSIC DEPARTMENT.' Each had arrows pointing him toward stairs, then down a hallway that had a plaque that read 'SCIENCE DEPARTMENT. DEDICATED TO MARY BETH DONOVAN. 1969 to 2010.' He obviously didn't bother to read it, and continued down the hallway, past an open pair of doors, only to see another sign pointing him to urge on further.   
  
        He did. He kept on going, limping all the way, and reached the music department, that had a plaque as well, dedicated to a man or woman, and John still did not bother to observe it on his way. Instead he kept going until there was a dead end with a sign that took him right and to the very last door on the left side.  
  
        The doors were open in an inviting manner. There was a mini-stage and desks that hadn't been put up yet that sat on the stage staring at them.  _Them_ being the other teenagers that stared at him. "Oh, hello, you must be John!" An elderly woman cried out, clapping her hands together as if in prayer.  
  
        "Everyone, this is John Watson. He just transferred here," she informed them, and continued, looking only at John, 'Ah, dear, you may have a seat wherever you like. We're just getting started."  
  
        John looked awkwardly at everyone. 'Sit anywhere, because no is going to give a damn anyways,' John thought. Sholto's words of wisdom had rung in his ear when he remembered when he started to have to try and find a new place to sit at lunch and in classes... But that was last school year, not this school year. This year would be different. Or maybe the same. Whichever.  
  
        He found an empty spot besides a rather hyper looking man in a funny suit. He wished he didn't have his damned limp for that moment though. Everyone stared. They were curious, of course it was normal of them, but it made John's anxiety and stress levels rise like a rocket. 'Oh, John you don't know the meaning of  _Screw it,_ do you?' he thought to himself, thinking in James Sholto's flat voice.  
  
        He sat himself down and the man looked down at him and smiled in this way that was almost animated; certainly lively, that's what John thought. "Here,  _John,_ " John thought the emphasis on his name was odd, but dismissed it, "you may want this, mate," the man next to him handed him a paper, while getting up and relieving Mrs. Hudson of the floor.   
  
        He handed everyone their own paper and went to stand where Mrs. Hudson had before. She was about to sit before a boy told her something John couldn't hear and she quickly exclaimed in a loud voice, "Oh! I have to go see something downtown, and I'll also go get snacks!"  
  
        The boy seemed to say another thing and Mrs. Hudson added in the same tone, "Shaun, you be a dear and get them started on introductions, will you?"  
  
        "No problem, Mrs. H.," Shaun (the boy who handed out papers) gave a theatrical thumbs up. Mrs. Hudson gave a small grin, her pink lipstick stretching much like a clowns. Well, John had thought that, but dismissed such an idea. Sure, she may seem to not be a real teacher, but... He guessed it was okay and normal. He also didn't want to judge her so quickly.   
  
        "Alright, who here was suggested to be in Debate from someone?" Shaun questioned. Several hands went up at the same time. John didn't raise his hand knowing it would be disaster, but maybe fate had something in store for him. "John! You're not raising your hand, so why did you join Debate?"  
   
        John felt like dying, or killing the ginger-haired boy who called his name. Whichever seemed more convenient. "Um, I just... I don't know. I thought it looked cool, and my dad told me it would look good for collages.." he drifted off awkwardly.   
  
        "Oh, brilliant man you father is, then!" Shaun exclaimed excitedly. He acted much like a playful puppy-dog John's old neighbors had. It was a golden retriever that never got tired and was loyal just if you pet him (but protective against strangers that seemed suspicious.)  
          
        Shaun was rather scrawny, yet looked older than anyone else there somehow. It probably had something to do with his height. He had nice red hair in the popular shaggy, yet professionally kept back style. It was this sort of style that would be hard to describe, even if you looked at it. He had eyes like glass; a blue that looked like a reflective glass. He was actually pretty handsome, considering he was growing a beard, a little bit of 5 o'clock shadow that looked nice. He looked like a good-looking actor.  
  
        "John's father got that right. I went to a very good college in Manchester for a few years, and now I'm a lawyer in a very well-respected firm," he smiled proudly. John felt stupid immediately. Shaun was obviously a smart man, or just baggage to the very well-respected firm he had continued to talk about.   
  
        "Oh, hm, so I filled out on of those papers earlier to tell you about myself, so here we go-oo," he ruffled through his fancy jacket's pocket. "Ah! Got it."  
  
        He read off in a confident voice that everyone could hear, "My name is Shaun Casey. I live in London, my favorite color is blue, and my life-goal is to own my own law firm. I joined debate because I wanted to just argue people and not get in trouble for it," there were some laughs, even from John but it was more forced, "and my favorite memory is when I first joined debate, Mrs. Hudson had walked in here and found me doing a duck imitation for my friends. She still calls me Ducky." He smiled at that, and asked, "You want to see it?"  
  
        Kids nodded their heads and he proceeded to get close to the floor, his bum almost touching and tucked his fists into his armpits. He then began to flap his arms like a duck and quack. The girls laughed at this and so did some of the boys, including John. Shaun went close to a girl and quacked at her because she wasn't laughing. She began to smirk, and let a laugh escape.  
  
        It seemed to satisfy Shaun, and he smiled at her, then waddled away and stood up. He seemed taller for a moment. "Alright, you guys give the same speech I did, and I'll help you if you need any help, okay?" Shaun smiled politely then went back to sit in his chair. Girls crowded around him and he smiled at all of them politely. John, unfortunately, was caught up in the rush. Honestly, all he needed was a pencil, so instead of standing there forever to wait, he went over to a boy and asked, "Can I have a pencil?"  
  
        The boy was overweight and seemed to be flustered over the paper. "Oh, um, I don't have one, but I saw Sherlock had some and had to borrow from him. If you want I can show you where he is?" The boy suggested to John awkwardly. John felt a tinge bit awkward as well, but nodded.  
  
        The boy had to make an effort standing, but was able. He got up and wobbled away with John limping behind.  _What a pair are we making!_ John thought to himself, tightening his fist around his cane. He felt he would shatter the poor thing under his grip.   
  
        "My name's Mike," introduced Mike, while holding out his hand to John. John took it and nodded. "Of course I heard Mrs. Hudson say your name to everyone, John Watson. Must have been embarrassing for you, but trust me, she didn't mean to do that," Mike reassured while smiling at John. To John, Mike reminded him of a pillow; trying to comfort you even if you had a bad thing happen to you. It was kind of nice, really, and John liked that.  
  
        A skeletal tower of a boy sat next to a girl while looking down at his paper. He seemed almost exotic to John, yet in a new sort of way, nothing too different about the boy. He had dark hair that was curly and almost fair, and his eyes were just a blue, sort of like the sort you would expect with a x-ray scan.  
  
        The girl next to him had very pretty rustic brown hair and eyes with a sweet look to them and dark; reminded John of chocolate. She seemed fixated on writing the rest of her paper while Sherlock only seemed to scan through it. Sherlock looked up as Mike approached them, like a prey would it's predator.   
  
        "Oh, hi Mike!" Molly greeted nicely as she saw Mike come by. Mike sat down with more ease and comfort. John stood, not seeing a need to sit. He seemed fixed on Sherlock as he looked up at him.   
  
        "Yes, yes, you're here for a pencil, am I correct?" Sherlock observed.   
  
        "Yeah, may I please borrow one?" John requested from him, while still looking superior. Molly and Mike were chatting to each other mildly.   
  
        "Five minutes!" Shaun had blurted out, but John and Sherlock had their stare-off, that no one but them seem to notice was going on.   
  
        "Take mine, I don't need it," Sherlock said, handing it to him. While handing it off, he looked in John's eyes while doing so. John looked back into his eyes. it all seemed very normal, and to John it was close to normality, except with a hint of awkward hanging around them. To Sherlock, it was trying to deduce and observe what John Watson was capable of doing and just knowing for his own pure enjoyment.   
  
        "Thanks," He turned and on the wall's surface scratched down what he wanted and what could it. The other ones, he decided, he could improvise with.  
  
        "You're not filling in some of it, John?" a voice asked from behind him, making him jump slightly, but keep his stoic look. It was Shaun, of course, who was there looking at John's paper.   
  
        "Yeah, I could improvise with those ones," he said, looking at him while dropping his paper from Shaun's view.  
  
        "Do we have to go up there?" Mike asked nervously. Shaun seemed to only be fixated on John for a second before looking at Mike and smiling courteously.  
  
        "Of course!" Shaun answered. Mike hung his head and looked as if he wanted to be invisible in that moment.   
  
        "Alright, one more minute!" Shaun loudly yelled to everyone while looking at his watch.   
  
        One minute seemed like forever to John. It seemed as if it would never end. He leaned on to his cane for support, his knee hurting. "You need to sit, John?" Molly asked graciously.  
  
        "Oh, no, thank you," he refused. He saw Sherlock looking at him and handed back the pencil, never losing eye contact. He thanked him, and went back to reading over his paper, just because he was bored.   
  
        "Alright everyone, times up!" Shaun exclaimed, after what seemed to be 5 minutes instead of just one, but John wasn't there to say that out loud. Mike did seem to mutter about it, but didn't seem to want to be the one that reminded Shaun during those minutes. Molly and Sherlock had stayed quiet and it was awkward and comforting to John, yet he didn't understand why.  
  
        "John, you first!" Shaun picked, pointing at John. "I'm actually fascinated to hear what you have to say, mate," Shaun seemed to confess. John wished he hadn't told him he was going to improvise now, but there was no going back.  
  
        He limped up there, and to some it was a sad sight, but they were also curious as to what the new boy had to say. "I'm, um, John Watson. I like in Bakersfield, but I used to live in Northumberland. My favorite color is red, and my life-goal is to become a, um, lawyer. I joined debate because my father said I should, and speech didn't sound too fun either. My favorite memory is-" John paused and thought for a second before deciding on one, and quickly too, "-when I got to Bakersfield." He faked a smile that seemed to pass Shaun by.  
  
        He looked at everyone as he spoke, but he never had the nerve to look at that Sherlock boy. Until he finished when he saw Sherlock looking at him as if he were lying, and John thought, for a mere second,  _Oh God, he knows I'm lying._ But then stopped and decided it was nonsense to think that.   
  
        Shaun smiled with content. "Alright, good. You did brilliantly with eye contact, John. Anyone else want to go up?" No one rose their hands. He saw a girl whose name he didn't know raise her hand in fear. John went back besides Mike and had sat down as Shaun smiled and proclaimed, "Cassandra! You go up."  
  
        John sighed out a breath of relief as she started to mumble incoherent words, but jumped once Shaun shouted, " _YOU TALK LIKE THIS IN DEBATE. LOUD AND CLEAR, YOU GOT THAT, YEAH?"_ Molly Hooper and Mike had both nearly jumped out of their skin. Poor Cassandra didn't know what to do. She started to talk louder before Shaun, who had been looking at his nails as if bored at an opera, yet he seemed content as she began to speak a little louder with each 'um.'  
  
        The crowd got worse and worse (poor Mike didn't know what hit him once he got up there. It was a malicious attack of words, and just too gruesome to speak of). Of course there were some few good ones- like a girl named Sally, who had almost an air of passion as she mentioned her fondest memory. She was pretty, too, so John made sure to take note of that.  
  
        Finally, there was only Sherlock sitting over in the corner. Shaun looked him and down quickly, looking unimpressed. Secretly, he was fascinated by the boy and let him start. Sherlock didn't have a paper with him, and John looked to glimpse at it to see it was empty.  
  
        "My name is Sherlock Holmes. I don't care to have a favorite color, my life-goal is to become a detective. I sometimes live in London and I sometimes live in Bakersfield.  I joined debate because I'm good at it, and Mrs. Hudson asked me to join. My fondest memory is of my brother leaving to go to London." He spoke clearly, loudly, and made eye contact that could kill. 

  
        Shaun sat gaping like a fish for a bit before, his eyebrows furrowed over his eyes in confusion. He was right to be fascinated by Sherlock, of course. Sherlock stopped and looked at Shaun as if expecting criticism.  
  
        Shaun was silent, for once. He felt a tingle go up his spine. Sherlock had such an analyzing look, that it made Shaun feel as if he were being looked down and judged. In all honesty, he was, and he knew that Sherlock was surveying him like a panther would its prey.  
  
        Sherlock swooped away like a crow. John had nothing to think about Sherlock. He seemed so mysterious and brooding, like an artist, but he just didn't have an air of passion about him. He seemed so exciting, yet had a bland tone for some odd reason, which added more to his fascinating aura. John liked Sherlock Holmes, and there was nothing to stop him from liking him; nothing at all.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this legitimately half a year ago. It might suck.  
> VH
> 
> Do I sound monotone? I swear I'm kind of not. I don't bite. Sort of.  
> VH

**Author's Note:**

> Good writing exists elsewhere. If you insist to continue reading, though, you're either very tolerable of bad writing with good main ideas (hopefully, good) around it.  
> VH
> 
> This is the beginning of a series of other badly-written stories. The next's name is still to be determined. I'll note it once I find out for myself.  
> VH


End file.
